


Reassignment

by ThereBeWhalesHere



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-08-07 19:26:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7726822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThereBeWhalesHere/pseuds/ThereBeWhalesHere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Starfleet's made a decision, and Jim is none too happy about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reassignment

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a friend who requested T'hy'la forehead touching! It's tiny and fluffy.

They both should have seen this coming. They had done so much good, truly they had, and they had done so much good  _ together _ . But even Starfleet couldn’t ignore the mounting list of infractions for long. Captain Kirk and First Officer Spock had broken more rules and regulations than even Spock could keep track of.

Each time they did, Spock told himself that it was for the greater good, the needs of the many outweighing everything, even if it did mean a court-martial, even if it did mean–

“Reassignment?” Jim’s voice was too loud for the small room, and he tossed a datapad on the floor, looking as though he might spit on it for the message it contained. 

Spock watched him, stoic in his chair– _ Jim’s _ chair, looking around Jim’s cabin like he was trying to memorize the spine of every book and the exact position of every plant’s leaves. 

“Starfleet put you in my crew specifically,” he said, voice in a kind of forced calm. “When we started this mission– They  _ knew _ we would balance each other out. And we  _ do _ .” This was said with an air of defeat, a tone Spock was not used to hearing in  his captain’s voice.

Though he was loathe to admit to the emotion, it was unnerving. 

“We do,” he agreed. 

Jim looked at him, a hard-eyed stare that cut through Spock’s walls. Spock shifted.

“You don’t agree with their decision, do you?” There was a pause. “ _ Spock _ .”

Spock gave Jim a long look, weighing his response like he was playing a particularly risky game of chess. “I do not,” he said, and Jim let out a breath. “But I understand why they feel it is necessary.” 

Jim huffed, crossing the room and sitting on the edge of his bed. Spock watched him through the lattice barrier between them, something in him softening. 

Things had been much less complicated with Captain Pike, he thought suddenly. Rules had been broken, of course, but Spock had never once worried about being removed from his command. He had never once felt as though being separated would feel like this. Somewhere along the line, loyalty to his captain had turned into something else, the one thing– it seemed– that Spock could not categorize.

“Jim,” Spock stood and circled round the room’s half-barrier while Jim ran a hand through his hair for the eighteenth time (by Spock’s count). 

He sat beside his captain, feeling somehow vulnerable. “It is not a final decision. There will be meetings, paperwork, and they _ will  _ interview the crew. They cannot–”

“ _ ’They cannot,’ _ ” Jim parroted, mocking. “Listen to yourself, Spock. It’s just delaying the inevitable. They’re going to separate the best team in Starfleet because– what? They think I’m corrupting you? Everything we do, we do for the Federation. Everything we do, even when we do it against regulations or–”

Spock didn’t know why Jim had paused, not until he realized that his hand had come to rest on his friend’s shoulder. The action surprised Spock as much as it surprised Jim. He didn’t know why he’d had to touch the man in order to reassure him, but it felt right.

“Jim,” he said again, gripping his captain’s shoulder tightly, trying to be that calming force to the hurricane of good intentions and reckless heroism that was Jim Kirk. “They  _ cannot _ .” 

The hand on Jim’s shoulder moved up his neck, coming to rest gently against his cheek, and Spock felt a thousand impressions he couldn’t block out, a thousand pinpricks of fear and despair and affection and he could no longer tell which of them was feeling it.

Jim was holding his breath.  

Spock leaned forward, pressed their foreheads together. It went beyond a companionable pat on the back or a shove out of danger. It went beyond the careless graze of their fingers while they played chess. It went beyond any touch the two had ever shared, but it was what was needed.

“They  _ cannot _ ,” he repeated. 

In the silence that followed, Spock opened the floodgate of his thoughts, let Jim sense his surety, his commitment, his determination that this simple feeling could not be taken from them without a fight.

He knew Jim would kiss him (probably before Jim knew himself) so when the press of their lips came, he felt a wave of serenity as though  _ this _ had been inevitable too. He didn’t hesitate to return the gesture, a gentle hum of a kiss, alien and wonderful.

Their lips parted, but their foreheads remained pressed together, the fear of moments ago washing away. Jim’s mind pulsed with that light that had become so familiar and so treasured and so inspiring. Spock didn’t know how he’d resisted its pull this long.

Jim’s hand came to Spock’s, pulling it from his cheek and pressing their palms together. Spock didn’t know if Jim knew what the clasp of their hands meant, but it terrified as much as it thrilled him. 

“They cannot,” Spock said again, weakly this time, fear of separation overshadowed entirely by the fear of this feeling.

“And they won’t,” Jim said finally, the cadence of his voice familiar, confident and brash and ready to take on the universe if he had to. They’d already taken on so much together that, suddenly, nothing outside the two of them seemed to matter at all.


End file.
